Drink To You
by barefootbean
Summary: As soon as the cold metal itched at his skin, made his nose run and his toes turn frigid in his boots, he knew what he wanted. "Casey... this one's for you, m' darlin'..." he muttered. Tonight, he would drink to her, and forget all the rest.


**[A/N]:** So this fic litterally hit me out of nowhere! There's nothing much to really warn anyone about here, except maybe for a couple of swears and some angst, but that should be it. Mentions of Casey crop up in here at... somepoint. Yes. Somepoint. If you can find her between the lines, that is. This is was supposed to be a 300 word drabble, but then Schwann dropped in and this here... Well, there was a plot at some point, I'm sure, but the prose monster ate it and just... ack. For lack of a better description, I think that's the best I can come up with here. This is a rather weird fic. :'D

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><p>It was one of those cold evening nights—the ones Raven hated that made him want to sleep the day off in a pile of blankets and reconcile about his utter laziness and lack of limb use later. Not that he was really lacking in options, or had better things to be doing besides twiddling his thumbs all day long, but it just... felt right. Like he was doing himself a favor by making himself miserable. By staring at the roof and thinking about how much he hated the fact that he was alive.<p>

If he was even that.

So he decided on impulse, as soon as the cold metal began to itch at his skin, make his nose run from the tingling and his toes turn frigid in his boots—against his better judgment, he pulled on his jacket and trudged down the street at an idiot's gait, because his legs had fallen asleep, it seemed. But that didn't matter.

He absolutely knew what he wanted right now.

Maybe it was just Schwann being a sadist again, making him think these thoughts, – damn knight was no better than himself really, he mused – but either way, he didn't really care about what Schwann thought. No, not at all.

Maybe Schwann was the better kept of the two, wore a little less dirt on his uniform and kept his face a little more impres—_impassive_ than himself on any day. Maybe he even made bad look good from time to time, in his regal Imperial uniform, and high class fancy armor and charmingly good looks—but once again, what did that matter to him, truly?

What Schwann really was was an ass and a half.

And perhaps maybe something a lot more insulting than even that.

He didn't care, Raven told himself again as he spoke with the bartender, shaking snow from his hair and picking it from his ear in irritating little white puffs of ice. He flicked it away in finality at the nearest waitress; This would be good for the both of them.

Ease a little heartache and maybe even fix some heartbreak. He'd like that. And Schwann was an idiot for even trying to argue himself out of it. As a puppet, all he had to do was listen. And boy, was he good at that; all those errands he ran for his better half. He was practically trained to sit down, shut up, and listen.

Ha. Yes. Schwann could suck it up for a night. Or at least for a couple hours if a not a day.

They both needed the break. Somehow, that was justification enough.

"Your drink, sir..." Raven nodded his head in acknowledgment and tried to think of something that didn't make him want to chuck the glass across the room in response. Okay, so maybe he was prone to violence more often than not these days, but who could blame him? Was anyone else walking around with a hunk of steel for a heart and suffering from an identity crisis?

No. Of course not. Because Lady Luck was out to kick his ass as well as all the other women in the world. Though, while he couldn't blame the women who wanted to stick him on a spit and put him the frier, Lady Luck could rot for all he cared.

With a brain he didn't feel like using and some common sense he really didn't want to steal from Schwann at the last moment, Raven eyed the shot on the counter like it was detrimental to his health – like it mattered anymore; he was technically good as dead anyway – and gave it a good, hard look in contemplation. Stifling a grimace, he lifted it.

Speaking of women, she would completely and utterly disapprove of his handling of the situation.

So it was definitely within reason that he should go against her wishes. Cut away that last strand tying him down, and let Schwann take over for a while (in the morning, of course). Let him do his work for him. All he had to do was listen, anyway. Just tip his head back and let it all go. Ignore the cold ache in his chest and the ass of a man staring him down in his reflection with smoother hair and a bound look that said, _Hey, I don't want to be here either..._

It was just another side of himself Raven really didn't want to face.

"Casey, this one's for you, m' darlin'..." He tilted his head back... and the liquid stung all the way down. To his credit though, he didn't even cough. Or blink. Or spit.

A few more of these, and he and Schwann wouldn't have to worry about anything for a nice, long while.

Tonight, he would drink to her—and forget all the rest.


End file.
